


All At Once I Loved You All These Years

by QuagmireMarch



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Child Abandonment, Depression, Did I Mention Angst? Because There is A Lot of It, Divorce, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fertility Issues and Mention of Miscarriage in later chapters, Found Family, Growing Up Together, Health Scares and Major Illnesses, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Katsuki Yuuri Needs a Hug, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Mentioned Off-Screen Adultery (Minor Characters), Pining, Rivalry, Slow Burn, Teenage Drama, Victor Nikiforov Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27520180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuagmireMarch/pseuds/QuagmireMarch
Summary: Ten year-old Katsuki Yuuri is offered a chance to study dance with Lilia Baranovaskaya, but that also comes with time in the ice rink where Yakov Feltsman coaches. And Yuuri's potential is hard to miss. It might be even harder for a young Victor to appreciate when the kid he sees as an interloper turns his world upside down. In many different ways over many years.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Lilia Baranovskaya/Yakov Feltsman
Comments: 294
Kudos: 401





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so the plan for this fic is to cover a LONG time. Approximately 14 years. Not all tags apply to all chapters or may even come up for a while. And more tags may be added over time as the story develops or I realize they exist and apply. 
> 
> Added - So, there was some question about it, and I realized it was unclear in the fic itself, but the age difference between Yuuri and Victor is the same in this fic as in canon, so while Yuuri is 10, Victor is 14.

Half a dozen children slipped, slid, and scooted across the ice. Among them, twirling and twisting with pure joy, Minako watched ten year-old Katsuki Yuuri dance. Even with only the sounds of skates cutting ice and children laughter filling the space she could see the music emanating from the young boy’s body, almost hear the melody of his turns and harmony of his spins.

Around him the other skaters stopped to stare, wonder and glee filling their faces. Minako heard one excited little girl, probably no more than five, tug on the sleeve of an older boy and say, voice hushed, “Onee-san, I want to do that some day. Can you teach me how?”

The teenager wrapped an arm around her, eyes never leaving Yuuri. “I don’t think that _can_ be taught, Ena-chan.”

Yes, Yuuri had a gift. And even more importantly, he had the work ethic and drive to turn that gift into a future. If only his family had the money to match either. Even as they failed utterly to understand figure skating, the Katsuki’s tried to support their boy’s ambitions. The gave him all the time in the world to practice, let him all but live in Minako’s studio and the rink. Money they’d have provided just as freely, but the onsen had faced difficulties recently, and they had none to give. Sad, but sometimes dreams ended up being sacrificed to practicality.

The free dance lessons and supervising his time at the rink, things Minako happily furnished, only went so far. She covered skate sharpening and new equipment—hidden as gifts to spare the family’s pride—but her funds were largely wrapped up in her businesses, and she didn’t have the amount needed to cover what Yuuri really needed. A coach. A dedicated, professional ice skating coach.

Takahashi served well as an instructor, and he’d been fine for the few local competitions Yuuri and Yuuko went to. He might even have been okay for Juniors as far as filling out paperwork and acting as a chaperone. But he lacked the knowledge to train the boy for even those competitions. The more advanced things Yuuri knew, he’d taught himself through hours of You-Tube videos and countless bruises. Takahashi couldn’t make him the skater Minako knew Yuuri could be, and Yuuri, stubborn as he was, wouldn’t be able to do it all alone.

An ache lodged deep in her chest as she continued to watch and the reality grew clearer and clearer. As things were, Yuuri might limp along skating, do okay in juniors, with luck get sponsors and be able to move to seniors. But by then he’d already be so far behind the major competition, the kids with tutors and private coaches and access to the best training facilities. He’d never fully be able to catch up.

He deserved so much more. And she couldn’t give it to him. But, she thought, breath catching as Yuuri moved through a beautiful set of steps he’d copied from a competition he’d watched with Yuuko the week before, maybe she could give him the next best thing.  
  
If he couldn’t continue his song with the ice, perhaps, at least, he could still dance.

Minako continued watching for one more long moment, and then she made a call. “Hello, Lilia? This is Minako Okukawa. I wanted to talk to you about a dancer in my studio…”

##

Yuuri held tight to Minako-sensei’s hand as they walked through the airport. He’d never been on a plane before, and he worried he might get scared and cry. Then people would call him a baby and babies didn’t get to dance away from home. He _couldn’t_ cry.

Not that he really believed he’d be staying in Russia, even if Ka-san and Tou-san had cried when he and Minako-sensei left the onsen. Even when they promised to send his things along after him. Because Madam Baranovskaya had only said she’d look at him and maybe take him on. And then only because Minako-sensei asked nicely.

_Of course,_ once she saw Yuuri dance she’d know he wasn’t really good enough. He’d never match the people dancing in the videos he watched with Minako, the people that moved like they could take off and fly at any moment. Yuuri only ever got close to feeling like he could do that on the ice.

With a sigh, he squeezed Minako-sensei’s hand and shored up his courage. So what if one of the prettiest ballerinas he’d ever seen (even more so than Minako but he’d never, ever tell anyone that) didn’t like him. He’d be okay. And he’d still have gotten to go on a plane and see Russia. This was a good thing.

Still, a sniffle escaped him.

“Yuuri,” Minako said as she bent down to look him in the eye. “You okay? I know it’s a lot, moving away from home and--”  
  
  
Another sniffle yanked free. “What if she doesn’t like me? What if she says I should never dance again and I’m an embarrassment and she gets mad at you for bringing me?”  
  


“That’s not going to happen.” Minako tucked Yuuri’s hair back and smiled softly. “I can’t promise she’ll let you stay, but I really think she will. And even if not, she’d never tell _anyone_ to stop dancing.” Minako-sensei’s hands moved to his shoulders like they did when she wanted him to really listen. “And Yuuri, you will never, ever be a disappointment to me. You could miss every step and I’d still be so, so proud of how hard you work and how brave you’re being. Okay?”

“O..okay.” The word was choked with the tears Yuuri refused to let fall, but it came out, and he meant it. Mostly.

He’d just have to go to Russia and do his very, absolute best. If he did that maybe, just maybe he could squeak through. For Minako and his family. And, if he dared in his secretest of hearts to be honest, most of all for himself.


	2. Complicated at First Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri is in Russia for his audition. He's nervous. Victor is displeased.

From his place at the barre Victor exchanged worried looks with Georgi as two foreigners walked into the studio. Even _Yakov_ didn’t get to interrupt Lilia’s training without fear of death. Some random woman thinking to sign her kid up for lessons, well, she’d be lucky if she left with all the skin she had when she showed up.

Lilia didn’t teach just anyone that walked in off the street. She trained the best dancers (and skaters) in the world. The best _Russian_ dancers and skaters. God knows he’d heard Yakov and her go on about national pride enough for six lifetimes. Long ones like where if you were British the queen sent you a birthday letter. It was a whole thing. Victor still remembered the one time just after he’d just moved in five years ago when Lilia considered taking on a French dancer. The girl had been born in Russia, but had French citizenship for some reason or another. Yakov had been so mad she even _thought_ about it that he’d slept in a hotel for a week.

Which seemed dramatic even to Victor, but that was between them.

Except when Lilia turned and saw them, she smiled. Smiled! And not the baring of teeth kind that meant she’d clenched her jaw and meant to verbally eviscerate you whether you realized it or not, but a _real_ one. Until that very second Victor would have sworn only Yakov and him got to see that smile.

But here were some strange foreigners basking in it, like they _earned it_. Which they absolutely had not, because if either of them had done anything significant enough—say won a gold medal at their first Junior GPF qualifier—he’d know who they were. Which he did not. Nor did he want to.

He wanted Lilia to send them away and smile at _him_ for...something. Anything.

Instead, she hugged the woman and started talking quietly in what was most definitely not Russian. English. Then the most impossible thing in the world happened. She clapped her hands and _ended practice early_. Sent him and Georgi away.

But not the chubby little kid that clung to the woman’s side. He got to stay for some reason, and Victor needed to know why. Nothing about this made sense, which meant it was dangerous. It’d taken so long for him to feel safe with Yakov and Lilia, for them to settle into their little family, so unlike the one Victor had known before. He’d be damned if he let all that time and effort go to waste without a fight.

##

The dance studio immediately set Yuuri at ease as they walked in. Clean, well-equipped, it looked similar to the one at Minako’s place, enough that it already felt a bit like home, a bit less alien than everything else they’d come across. Not being able to read signs was weird, like trying to make sense of dream logic. Something felt like it should click in place and then he’d understand, but it just didn’t happen.

Here, with the familiar feel of the floor beneath him and the sturdy presence of the bar, Yuuri could finally breathe again. Even maybe feel a little brave. Taking a second to shore up that little flicker of courage, he peeked around Minako-sensei to look at the older boys going through warm-ups at the barre.

The dark-haired one looked tall and fit. Like a dancer should. Minako-sensei promised Yuuri would be able to look that way, too, once he hit his growth spurt. Okay form, and bold fuschia and purple leggings, but otherwise not terribly memorable.

But the other boy—Yuuri felt his eyes widen. Lanky and somehow, both solid and...Yuuri didn’t know the word, but like he could take flight or disappear into smoke at any moment, and with waist-length silver hair that gleamed in the light and eyes as blue as a summer sky, he looked more like a character from a storybook than a real person. Yuuri thought he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. But he looked unhappy, frowning and body tense.

Yuuri wondered why, and if he could fix it somehow. But, before he could get up the nerve to ask, the stern madame—Madame Baranovskaya—sent the older boys away. And Yuuri had no more time for idle curiosity. Because the time had come to dance.

First, Madame Lilia, as she asked to be called, had him go through the positions, then perform jumps, and then, and only then, did she let him perform the piece he and Minako had worked so very hard to perfect. It tested the limits of his abilities so far, but more, it represented all the hopes that hinged on this trip, each move meant to evoke (a word Minako-sensei used _a lot_ ) Yuuri’s joy in moving, his excitement to grow, his fears of failing.

He didn’t get it perfect. His steps not as smooth as he wanted, his jumps not high enough, a tiny stumble on a turn, but none of those slowed him down as he threw all of himself into this one piece, this once chance. His only chance.

Madame Lilia said nothing when he finished, just stared at him for a long moment before nodding once. Then she turned to Minako and said something in Russian. Which Yuuri, of course, did not speak. Why couldn’t they use English? He’d been learning that for as long as he could talk to help Ka-san and Tou-san with tourists and because Minako-sensei insisted he’d need it for competitions someday.

The rest happened in a blur. Minako explained that he’d been accepted, that he’d be living with Madame Lilia and her husband now. She hugged him hard outside the studio and then she was in a cab and gone, already headed back to catch the flight she’d booked back to Japan, the short turnaround time the only way she’d been able to afford bringing them both on short notice.

Yuuri took a deep breath. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes and lodged in his throat. He wanted to be here. He did. But, he suddenly felt more alone than he had in his whole entire life. But then Madame Lilia was there, her hand on his shoulder, her face stern, but eyes kind. “Come, Yuuri,” she said in English. “Let’s get you home and settled in, okay?”

Yuuri sniffled once, but then nodded, face determined. “Okay.”


	3. Just to Make You Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor is deeply unhappy with his new living situation.

Victor heard the door open, but paid it no mind—just Lilia coming home—until Makkachin started barking excitedly. The dog liked Lilia well enough, but he’d long stopped finding her worth that kind of greeting. Curious, he poked his head out of his room and looked down the hall towards the front door. He saw Lilia, Makkachin’s wagging tail, and...sneakers. Small sneakers. Little kid sneakers.

No. She wouldn’t. Victor crept forward until he got a full view of the entryway. The little Japanese boy was there on the floor, laughing as Makkachin licked his face. What. The. Hell. He did not belong in the house. He didn’t even belong in _Russia_.

Lilia must have spotted him because she called out, in English, “Vitya, good. Come and meet Yuuri. He will be living with us for a time.”

“What?” Victor came into the room, arms crossed. “Why?”

Frowning, Lilia looked at Victor for a long moment. “He is going to be training with me, and being so far from home I thought it would be good for him to have familiar faces around.”  
  


“Or he could just go back to Japan and have all the familiar faces. They have ballet instructors, don’t they?”

“Victor Mikhailovich Nikiforov!” Lilia’s voice was whip-sharp and her mouth pinched. “You will watch your manners. We do not behave with such ugliness in this house.”

Victor scowled down at the dark-haired boy still tangled on the floor with Makka. The kid’s eyes were huge and brown and glistening with unshed tears, and for just a second Victor actually wanted to apologize. And then he remembered the French dancer. So, instead, he whistled for Makkachin to follow and retreated to his room where he did _not_ slam the door, but made it very clear with his body language he wanted to.  
  
  
He didn’t come out for dinner. Didn’t even open his door when Lilia knocked with an offer of food to eat in his room. But, he did wipe his tears and smile because she’d tried. And when he heard her and Yakov’s bedroom door close some time later, he slipped out and brought the tray inside.  
  
  
Borscht was just fine cold anyway.

##

Yuuri hadn’t vanished like a bad dream when Victor got up in the morning. Instead, he sat at the small kitchen table, hair rumpled, glasses crooked, and eyes down as if waiting to be scolded. Victor wondered what he’d done and if it’d been bad enough to get the brat sent back home.

But Victor had seen the careful look Lilia shot as he entered the room, watchful and oddly sad, before she came and placed a quick kiss on the top of his head. The action took Victor off-guard. Neither she nor Yakov tended towards casual affection, preferring to show their care in more pragmatic ways. The last time she’d done something like that had probably been when Victor had been Yuuri’s age.

He brushed her away with an uncomfortable grumble, more pretense than truth, his real emotions shown in the pleased flush of his cheeks. Like good Russians though they both ignored it.

Victor also tried to ignore the Japanese-shaped elephant in the room. Which the kid made surprisingly easy by barely speaking beyond soft good mornings and thank yous as he was greeted and food passed to him. Breakfast might even have been bearable if Lilia hadn’t decided to make conversation.

“So, Yakov,” Lilia said once they had all gathered. Then she waited a long, pointed moment for the man to put down the paper he read and look at her.

“Yes, my dear?” His eyes almost immediately darted back to the page, but he didn’t actually lift the paper back up.

“Did you still want me to look at that Alexei today, see about choreography for his program?”

Victor swallowed, throat dry. Lilia never confirmed plans. If Yakov told her something she showed up, and that something happened whether he had remembered or not. Because Lilia Baranovskaya was a force of nature and you did not seek her help lightly. That she opened the discussion this way meant that she wanted something in exchange, not that she actually expected Yakov to have changed his mind. And Victor figured whatever it was had something to do with the interloper at the table doing his best stuffed animal impression.

Yuuri already messed up Victor's ballet training. He had no business being involved with Yakov in any way.

Yakov clearly understood the subtext as well as Victor because he pushed the newspaper away to the side and gave Lilia his complete attention. “I do.”

Lilia’s lips tugged upwards for a single second. “Good. Yuuri and I will be there at two. He will skate while I work with Alexei.”

  
Victor’s fork clattered loud as a gunshot in the suddenly silent kitchen. Then he and Yakov spoke in unison, “You skate?” Victor knew he sounded like he’d just accused the kid of murder. Yakov just sounded politely disinterested. Which was way better than some of the alternatives, but not as good as a good scoffing would have been.

“I do, a little.” Yuuri didn’t look up as he spoke, his cheeks flaming scarlet. “I’m not so good though.”

  
“Then why bother coming to the rink? It’s for real skaters, not--”  
  
  
“Vitya.” Lilia’s voice was firm, but not unkind. “I have asked Yuuri to skate because I feel it is good for his training. Are you questioning my methods?”

  
Victor’s teeth ground together for a moment, but he managed to force out a relatively polite, “No, ma’am.”  
  
  
“Good, then let us all finish eating. Today will be long.” And Lilia went back to her food as if everything were resolved.  
  
  
Yakov just picked his paper up and went back to reading.

  
Victor though stared daggers at the small boy across from him as he shoveled food into his mouth as if it had personally offended him.

  
Yuuri, he just ate quietly, never looked up, and somehow seemed to get even smaller in his seat. It didn’t make Victor feel better, though he wished it would. Something had to.


	4. Captured in Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri skates.

Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat when they walked through the doors and he saw the rink. So big. Much bigger than the Ice Castle, and newer, too. Way below, six people already moved on the ice. Yuuri recognized Victor right away, his glistening hair braided but distinct.

As Yuuri watched, the older boy moved into a jump, a really high, perfect triple axel and Yuuri stopped breathing altogether, enraptured. He continued staring as Victor moved seamlessly through a routine, body graceful and strong, lines clean and sharp. He looked so beautiful Yuuri didn’t dare blink for fear of missing something. He might have stayed that way, eyes wide and drying, mouth slightly open in awe, had Madame Lilia not come and squeezed his shoulder.

“Are you okay, Yuuri?”

He nodded as he inhaled a giant gulp of air which he immediately turned into a flood of words. “He’s so _good_. Did you see how pretty his triple axel was. And so high. He could have jumped right over me, Madame Lilia! And his step sequence was so fast, and--”  
  
  
“Yes, Vitya is very talented.” She smiled down at him and then nudged him forward. “You should go get your skates on now.”

Yuuri nodded again, hard enough to knock his glasses askew as he bounded down the steps, excitement setting his shoulders dancing. As he got to the bench he saw Victor stopping to get a drink, and he couldn’t help but move towards him, like his feet had gotten ideas all their own and just took Yuuri along with them. “Victor,” he said, voice a little breathless, “that was amazing. You’re a really, really great skater.”

Eyes as blue as the summer sea in Hasetsu locked on him. Yuuri felt his cheeks flush as Victor stared at him for a really long time, mouth pinched and angry.

“Yes, I know.” And then Victor skated off, blades cutting deep and fast into the ice.

Yuuri’s shoulders fell, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t known Victor disliked him. Most kids seemed to. Yuuri was too quiet, too weird, too fat. At least Victor didn’t call him names or shove him like Nishigori-senpai did. Or worse like the things some of the older boys in school threatened until Mari beat them up. This would be fine. It had to be.

Yuuri had nowhere else to go. His parents had spent all they could on sending his belongings. If they needed to they’d fly him home, but it’d be at the cost of things the onsen needed to run. And Yuuri would not—could not—let it come to that.

So, Yuuri laced up his skates and focused on what he could do. He got on the ice and he let everything go but moving. A small part of his mind kept track of the other skaters around him as he moved through figures to warm up, but most of his attention pulled inward where all the feelings he couldn’t handle turned into music and he could release it through motion.

A combination spin for all the confusion, a step sequence and Ina Bauer for his hopes, scared as they made him, a triple axel, not quite right, the landing rocky for his homesickness. Loneliness let out in every line and motion as he transitioned from element to element until he was finally, finally empty. And then when it was at last just him and the ice, he sped up and whirled faster and faster, laughter escaping as he leapt and spun and _danced_.

At last, breathless, he came to a stop, smiling fully for the first time since Minako-sensei told him about Russia. And then he looked around. Everyone had stopped skating and they all stared at him. Victor looked shocked, his mouth hanging open, and Georgi was...crying?  
  
Had he done something wrong? Was he not actually allowed to be there? But, Madame Lilia had said he could skate, right? Maybe he shouldn’t have done jumps. That was probably it. He didn’t have a coach or a spotter and it probably meant everyone had to pause to keep him safe. Which was so inconsiderate of him.

  
Eyes wide and hands suddenly shaking, he quickly sketched bows to each person around him. “Sorry. I—sorry to interrupt. I--”  
  
  
A sharp voice cut him off. Yakov. “Katsuki, how old are you?”

One of the best figure skating coaches in the world. And Yuuri had humiliated himself by breaking the most basic of rules. He was old enough to know better, too. “Ten, sir.” He looked down, hands knotted together.

“And who was your coach in Japan?” The man looked at Yuuri with sharp eyes, face impassive but something stretched and tense in his voice. “Why did you switch to dance?”

“Um, well, I didn’t switch exactly.” Yuuri’s shoulders moved up around his ears. “I did both, but the instructor at Ice Castle said he couldn’t work with me anymore, and,” he scratched his head, voice drifting lower, “we couldn’t afford a coach so Minako-sensei said maybe I could keep dancing instead, so...” So here he was, but it felt ungrateful to end the sentence that way, like he didn’t appreciate Madame Lilia taking him on, didn’t understand what a huge opportunity he’d been given. Yet, he wasn’t sure how to express all of that so he just let the words trail away.

Yakov breathed out kind of like a bull, long and hard. “I see. I will have to speak to Lilia about this.” Then he turned away, started to bark orders to the younger boys.

Yuuri figured he’d tell Madame Lilia not to let him skate again, that he was too clumsy, too reckless to be on the ice. It hurt to consider not skating again at all. Hurt so much. But, that was for later. Right now no one made him leave, so he skated. Skated like his life depended on it. He did not, however, do anymore jumps.

  
Yuuri tried not to make the same mistakes twice.


	5. Wounds Opened and Bleeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor is not handling Yuuri's skating--or general existence--very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is referenced homophobia here. Not explicit, but there. Also violence. Again, not explicit but present.

Victor hated everything about Yuuri Katsuki. He hated his ugly glasses and his stupid hair, his ridiculous clothes, everything. Especially his skating, his beautiful, graceful, incandescent skating that brought Victor to tears and made him feel like a fraud.

“Not so good my fucking ass,” Victor muttered as he tossed his dirty clothes in his bag. “He dances and he makes Lilia smile, and he skates, too! Probably a goddamn piano prodigy and can sing like an angel or, I don’t know, is secretly the cure to cancer.” The shirt he threw at the duffle bag bounced and rolled to the floor.

“Vitya,” Georgi poked his head around the bank of lockers, “are you okay?”

“I’m...” Victor wanted to say ‘fine’, to wave off the concern with a bright smile just like usual. But, this time the words wouldn’t come, his lips refused to turn up, and suddenly, so suddenly he had no chance to stop them, tears poured down his cheeks.

Georgi didn’t say anything, but he came and sat by Victor. He carefully opened his arms, and if it surprised him when Victor let himself fall into them, he still remained silent. And then he just let Victor cry in a way he hadn’t since he was nine years-old and Yakov rescued him.

It’d been cold that day, Victor remembered because it’d been an argument about the heating bill that started everything. He didn’t remember all the details clearly. Just that Mama had been mad Papa went drinking rather than paying the bill, and that Papa had said he could drink all he wanted if they stopped paying for Victor’s skating lessons.

He’d started crying then, begging not to have the thing he loved most taken away. But Papa, smelling of vodka and cheap aftershave just got more upset, called Victor a baby, and...well, some other words he hadn’t really understood then. He knew them now. He’d heard the hockey players toss them around at the figure skaters all too often.

Russia was not kind to gay men. Not that Victor was actually gay. He wasn’t. He just wasn’t that interested in dating. Didn’t have time with trying to win all the medals. So, it didn’t mean anything when he turned girls down. No matter what the hockey players said.

At least at the rink it was just words. Papa had moved from those to sharp slaps and hard punches, screaming at Victor to stop crying, to stop being such a little girl, to stop embarrassing him. He didn’t see Mama hit him with the vase, hadn’t registered anything but the need to get away when the fists stopped slamming into him. 

He’d crawled away. Called Yakov. His coach saved his life that night. Even if he came too late to save Mama. Victor owed him everything.

Even if honoring that meant losing all he had. If Yakov wanted to train Yuuri, Victor would accept it. He wouldn’t like it, but that didn’t matter. He’d be good. So good. He’d win everything, be better than Yuuri. And then Yakov and Lilia wouldn’t be able to replace him. They’d let him stay. Let him remain safe with them

##

Yuuri had gone to dance with Lilia, and he should have gone home with her an hour ago. So, Victor had no idea why the kid currently stood outside the rink, nose red and eyes watering from the cold. Maybe he forgot something? Victor shrugged. Not his problem. He hitched his bag higher and started walking.

“Victor?” Yuuri’s voice wavered in the air, hesitant. “I...um...thought we could walk back together?”

“Why?” He didn’t turn to look at the younger boy, didn’t want to see his big, dopey eyes pleading like Makka, but Victor did, at least, stop walking. For now.

Yuuri shuffled over, head down. “Well, I just thought, you know, it’d be nice to get to know each other since we live together and everything.”

Victor closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He didn’t want to get to know Yuuri. He just wanted to hate him in peace. But probably he didn’t even know how to get back to the house on his own and if Lilia let him stay she wanted Victor to bring him back. Hands clenching and unclenching around his bag, Victor started walking again. “Well,” he snapped, when Yuuri just stood there like a dope, “are you coming or not?”

The shorter boy hurried to catch up. “Thank you.”

Victor said nothing, and if he sped up a little so Yuuri would be too winded to talk, well, no one could prove it.

Sadly, it didn’t work. “I really like your skating,” Yuuri huffed out between little sprints to get to Victor’s side when he fell behind.

“You lied.” Victor hadn’t meant to respond. He hadn’t. But this had bugged him all day.

“Huh?” Yuuri stumbled, came within a hair’s breadth of going face first onto the pavement. Caught himself at the last second.

Victor very considerately did not shove him the rest of the way over. “You said you didn’t skate well. You lied. Why?”

“Um...I didn’t? I mean, I’m not as good as you. Your triple axel was--”

“You’re never going to be as good as me.” Victor glared, voice colder than the air around them. “I won’t let you. You should just stick to dance, or better yet, just go home.”

“I...know.” Yuuri looked down. “I’m not really good enough to be here. I know. But, I’m going to work hard. I’ll get there someday.”

Victor made a noise. A growl, a snort, something in between. An ugly, angry sound. It reminded him of his papa and that scared the hell out of him. With shaking hands he put his headphones in and all but ran the rest of the way back to Lilia’s arms.


	6. Despair Cuts Both Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor keeps pushing. Yuuri finally pushes back. It's bad for everyone.

Two weeks passed. Two long, lonely weeks for Yuuri. Lilia and Yakov were very kind, but severe in a way he’d never known, and Victor...Well, Victor left any room Yuuri entered. And took Makkachin with him. Yuuri missed the dog the most. At least the dog liked him.

He wasn’t sure Yakov or Lilia did. One night he’d heard them arguing late at night, his name the only word he really understood. Yuuri figured Lilia regretted taking him on and they were figuring out the best way to send him home.

Yuuri worked twice as hard at the studio after that, staying up in his room practicing positions until his feet cramped and wouldn’t hold him anymore. He spent time in the gym, too, getting stronger, but it didn’t seem to change anything. He went to class and Lilia would nod and give him a sharp ‘good’ before spending most of the time correcting Georgi or Victor or the other ballet-only student, Sergei.

Even in their private lessons she’d mostly just adjust his form without saying much other than muttering about beauty and rebirth under her breath or other things in Russian he didn’t understand. What had he done to make her give up on him so soon? How could he fix it?

The anxiety gnawed at him, the only time he found peace being the three days a week he got to skate. On the ice, spinning and moving to the sound of his blades, Yuuri left the fears and worries behind for a time. He even managed to make a friend when Lilia had him help Alexei, who was thirteen and starting his first year in juniors, learn the choreography she’d done for him.

Blond, blue-eyed, and aggressively outgoing, Alexei and Yuuri made for an odd pair, but in a weird way, it worked. The older boy liked to talk, so Yuuri didn’t have to. And because he’d spent the first ten years of his life in America, he spoke English. Yuuri knew some of the others at the rink must also—like Victor—but they never spoke it to him.

So, Yuuri taught and listened and learned all the gossip about the people in the rink from Georgi’s latest attempt at getting a girlfriend to the rumors that Victor’s parents were in the Bratva or dead or spies. Alexei even relayed some of the rumors about Yuuri—that he had danced in a Broadway show (What?), that his parents were famous in the dance scene (Um, no.), that he’d left Japan to escape crazed fans (Where did this stuff come from?). Yuuri tried to correct these mistakes, but Alexei just laughed him off saying stories were way more fun than the boring truth.

Yuuri suspected Alexei made them up himself because the real things being said about Yuuri were less kind. He didn’t miss the glares from Victor or the way everyone but Alexei avoided him. And really, Alexei only talked to him when Lilia made them work together, so did that even count?

It didn’t matter. He got to dance. He got to skate. He didn’t need friends. He didn’t.

##

On a typical day, Yuuri worked with a tutor during the day. Vasily-sensei spoke really good English and okay Japanese, and in between math and science, he taught Yuuri Russian. It was slow going, but Yuuri enjoyed learning and liked his teacher.  
  
But that Wednesday wasn’t a typical day. Yuuri’s sensei had gotten sick and been unable to come for lessons. Unfortunately, he’d called to report this after everyone had already left, explaining apologetically to Yuuri in between coughing fits. Yakov and Victor went to the rink where Victor worked with his own tutor in between practice sessions, and Lilia had gone to the studio for lessons with Alexei and Georgi.

They’d left Yuuri in the temporary care of the maid, Yulia. Perfectly fine for the half-hour before Vasily-sensei usually arrived. More of a problem now because she left at eight am and didn’t speak any English.

Yuuri didn’t know how to ask her to stay, didn’t even know if that was allowed. So, he waited and hoped she’d notice when no one came to start his lessons. Hoped she’d poke her head in, see him alone, and maybe call...someone.

She didn’t. At eight sharp she called out something in Russian and Yuuri heard the door close behind her. It left the house frighteningly quiet, the only noise at all the click-clack as Makkachin wandered around. Probably looking for Victor.

He didn’t want to be here alone, but he didn’t want to bother anyone either. Yuuri didn’t know what to do. If he disrupted things Yakov and Lilia would _definitely_ send him home. He’d have failed at everything. His family would be so disappointed. They probably wouldn’t even _want h_ im back after messing up so badly and costing them so much money for nothing.

“Makka,” Yuuri called out, voice cracking and softer than he meant it to be but still too loud in the empty hush of the big house, “come here, Makka.”

The poodle ran into the room and tumbled into Yuuri’s side, bringing them both to the kitchen floor. Yuuri barely noticed the impact as he wrapped his arms around her neck and let her lick away the tears on his cheeks.

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew someone picked him up and moved him to the couch. Opening his eyes he saw dark eyes and light-hair. He recognized the man as the dog-walker that came and took care of Makka while Yuuri studied, but he didn’t know his name. He didn’t speak English either.

Still, he sat quietly on the couch with Yuuri until Yakov burst in with Victor at his side. The man looked red as sriracha sauce, coat misbuttoned and hat backwards. Victor just looked mad.

“Yuuri!” Yakov’s voice rang off the walls and made Yuuri wince. Here it came, the order to pack up and go home.

But, it didn’t happen. Instead, Yakov knelt by him on the couch. “Are you okay? What happened? Where is your teacher?”

“He got sick.” Yuuri looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry to have caused you trouble.”

Yakov blinked. His mouth opened and then closed. Finally, he stood, and gestured towards Yuuri’s room. “Go. Get your skates. You will come to the rink with us.”

Nodding, Yuuri got up and headed to his room, but Victor blocked the doorway, scowl sharp enough to draw blood. “Why do you have to ruin _everything_?”

Hunching his shoulders around his ears, Yuuri just tried to duck under Victor’s arm and into his room, but the older boy wouldn’t let him. Victor grabbed his arm and pulled him back out to the hall.

  
“No one wants you here, you know. Why don’t you just go crying back to your family and leave us alone.”

The words shattered against all Yuuri’s fears and suddenly he’d had enough. He _knew_ that. He didn’t need Victor, who everyone loved, throwing it in his face. Red hot rage flooded him, and Yuuri straightened, meeting Victor’s eyes with his own. “At least I _have_ a family.”

Victor’s eyes went wide, cheeks red. Probably he meant to say something else, something mean, but Yuuri didn’t give him a chance. He yanked the taller boy from his doorway and went inside his room, slamming the door behind him.

The two didn’t speak to each other at all the rest of that day. Or for many days after.


	7. Blood Ties and Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor gets some very unexpected news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so some new tags have been added because I realized some things would be mentioned at least that might be triggering. Most of them are only really referenced or addressed in a later chapter, rather than being major story elements, but they are important to some characters' motivations. I will try to mention in the notes for a chapter when they are relevant. In this chapter is reference to Victor's father's infidelity and hints of the past abuse Victor faced, though very, very indirectly.
> 
> This chapter also starts with a time skip. Just so people know.

A full year passed, Victor turned fifteen and Yuuri turned eleven. They got better at co-existence, though their conversations were always brief and stilted. Coldly polite. It seemed good enough for Yakov and Lilia, so Victor learned to live with it.

  
What he found harder to handle was the strange distance growing between his substitute parents. They never fought, Yakov and Lilia, or if they did it wasn’t where Victor could hear, but they also didn’t talk a whole lot. Or touch.

Every morning Yakov woke, had a quick breakfast with his paper, and then he and Victor went to the rink. Yakov always invited Yuuri, and rather than be grateful, the kid got a hunted look, stared at Lilia, and shook his head. Every. Single. Time.

Did Yuuri know something more about the issues between Yakov and Lilia? Was _Yuuri_ the issue? Victor might be focused, but never stupid. He knew Yakov wanted to train the boy. Hated everything about that knowledge except that Yuuri kept refusing. And even that bugged him because Yuuri had talent. And Victor wondered what skating against him one day would be like. Especially the winning. Beating Yuuri was a quiet dream that festered deep in Victor’s heart.

  
But, the boy chose dance. And that was fine. Just fine. Unless it meant problems between Yakov and Lilia. Then it meant nothing other than that Yuuri should _go home_.

Victor took a deep breath. Rationally he knew that even if the two fought about Yuuri, that didn’t make their problems Yuuri’s fault. Unfortunately, that didn’t make the anger he constantly felt towards the younger boy go away. He wished it would. Being mad all the time was exhausting.

Anyway, Wednesday started like any other day. He and Yakov went to the rink, they trained, Victor argued he should be allowed to move to Seniors, Yakov said ‘next year.’ He’d been saying that since Victor was thirteen.

Lunch came and went. Yuuri showed up in the afternoon to skate with Alexei, just like he did every Wednesday (and Mondays and Saturdays, too.) Normal. Irritating, but normal.

And then Yakov asked Victor to come into his office. Decidedly not normal. Not normal at all. And scary. Because only serious, and usually bad, things happened in the office. Like when Yakov told Victor his father, Mikhail, had been released from prison far too early, set free on a legal technicality. With the tension between him and Lilia, Victor feared the worst as he walked in and shut the door softly behind him.

The office itself looked plain to the point of seeming more like a set than a real room. A standard wooden desk with a computer and monitor, two matching wooden folding chairs, one on each side of the desk, a battered dark green filing cabinet, and a floor lamp older than Victor. No books, no pictures, nothing personal.

Yakov sat behind the desk in an ugly brown sweater, expression neutral, but Victor saw the clouds brewing in his eyes. Something troubled him deeply. That did not bode well for this meeting, and he found his hands shaking ever so slightly as he sat across the desk from his coach. “Yakov?”

“Vitya.” The man tapped his fingers against the desk, face pinched. Then he took a deep breath, let it out and spoke. “I wasn’t sure if I should even tell you this, but a letter arrived at the house from Nikolai Plisetsky.”

Victor blinked. The first name meant nothing to him, but the surname—that he knew. Lada Plisetsky had been one of his father’s many mistresses, the only one that showed up at his trial. He’d seen her in the news a few times over the years as well. A small-time model/actress, she’d campaigned hard for Mikhail’s release, and, three months after he got out and dumped her for a more famous woman, she’d released a scathing interview on his manipulations and abuses.

Victor kind of hated her. “Let me guess,” he said tonelessly, “they want money.”

Vanya Nikiforova came from a very wealthy family. Victor had inherited substantial trusts from both his grandparents and his mama. Money carefully walled away so that his father could never gain access. Even _Victor_ had no way to use it without the trustees signing off until he was thirty. Didn’t stop the people his father hurt from trying to get recompense just because Victor shared his father’s last name. Sometimes they asked, even begged, sometimes they threatened or tried to blackmail him for it, but it always came down to the same ugliness in the end when he refused.

Yakov shook his head. “No. Actually, Mr. Plisetsky made it quite clear any such offerings would be refused. The letter was a...courtesy. There is news likely to come out soon, and he wanted to know if it were best to let you know ahead of time or not. I think, probably, it is.”

“What kind of news? Is this guy Lada’s new husband or something?”

“Her father.” Yakov shifted uncomfortably. “Vitya,” he paused and then stood, dragging his chair to sit across from Victor. “Vitya, Lada has a son. Three years-old. Yuri.”

Victor blinked. Another Yuri? That was just what his life needed right now. “Okay,” he said dragging the word out. “And what does this have to do with me?”

Closing his eyes, Yakov pinched the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t need to affect you at all if you wish, but I thought you’d want to hear about it from me rather than reporters. And, Nikolai apparently wanted it made clear that despite Lada’s efforts, now that he has full custody of the boy, there would be no attempts to get money from you. Not that her legal actions had any merit in the first place. The boy may be your half-brother, but there are no legal ground for him to inherit from people that were gone before he existed, much less those he has no relation to himself.”

“Wait, what legal...brother... _what_?” Victor stared, eyes wide and hands clenched so tight he ripped his pants.

“A few weeks ago the attorneys told me Lada made a claim on the trust based on her son belonging to Mikhail. Apparently, she believed some of the money had come from him and so she should get it. The claim was summarily dismissed so it wasn’t worth mentioning.”

“You didn’t think my having a _brother_ was worth mentioning?”

“Honestly, I doubted you did. Lada Plisetsky is a snake, and this wasn’t the first time she tried to use you and her connection to your father to get a payday. But, in the letter Mr. Plisetsky mentioned they’d done tests to get child support. And Mikhail Nikiforov is definitely the little Yuri’s father.”

“Oh.” Victor stared down at his hands. He had a brother. He had a _brother_. Family, blood family. Not that he didn’t love Yakov and Lilia—he did, more than anything—but to know someone out there shared his blood, someone better than Mikhail, it eased some small, bruised thing deep inside he’d not even realized hurt. “Can I meet him?”

“Victor, I don’t think--”  
  
“Please, Yakov! Please. I...I want to know him. And, well, he’s family. My family. I can’t just...I can’t ignore that and just...abandon him.” Victor vaguely realized hot tears streamed down his face though it was a distant awareness, all his attention on forcing the right words out, on making Yakov understand. “I can’t be like _him_ , Yakov. I can’t!”

“Oh, Vitya.” Yakov wrapped strong arms around Victor’s shoulders and held him tight. “You never could my boy, but if this means so very much to you I will ask, okay?”

Victor sniffled and nodded into Yakov’s chest. “Thank you.”

Yakov didn’t reply, just held Victor until the tears passed.


	8. Breaking Beautifully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are not going well for Yuuri as tensions between Yakov and Lilia grow.

“Again!” Madame Lilia’s sharp voice rang out like a gunshot in the otherwise quiet studio.

She’d pulled Yuuri aside that morning, told him they’d be working on his spring recital piece even though Saturdays were typically his rest day. He didn’t mind giving up the free time so much. He usually spent it either practicing or skating anyway, but right then he desperately wanted a break.

They’d been working since just after breakfast, barely paused for lunch, and dinner time had come and gone an hour ago. And Yuuri was no closer to being able to do what Madame Lilia demanded. Didn’t know if he even _could_. The piece originally came from a showpiece she’d choreographed for the Marinsky, meant for a professional danseur. Yuuri knew only about a third of the techniques needed.

And she expected it perfect in three months. When he couldn’t even get the stuff he _did_ know right. She’d torn apart his arabesque, called his turn-out sloppy, compared him to a charging rhino more than once as he moved through the steps. Yuuri tried, he tried so hard, but his body just failed to do as he wanted over and over and over.  
  
Exhaustion made it all worse. But, Yuuri, with all the determination in his soul, got back on the floor and started again from the beginning, blocking out the places he still needed to learn elements. For a few blissful seconds, completing a series of pirouettes and moving on to a series of graceful twists and bends he loved, he felt good, the joy of moving shooting energy through his tired limbs, reminding him why the dance studio felt more like home than anywhere else.

It shattered like blown glass as Madame Lilia called out, “No! Cease!” She prowled forward like a hungry shark, pushing and pulling at Yuuri’s body, arching his spine almost to the point of pain. “This! You are meant to be flowing water, not a galumphing hippo!” She hissed between her teeth. “Why do I bother with you, Yuuri, if you aren’t even going to _try_?”

Yuuri crumbled, choking on the tears he refused to let fall. Madame Lilia had no patience for tears and he’d disappointed her enough. “I’m sorry, Madame. I will do better.”  
  


She clicked her tongue dismissively. “Perhaps. Or maybe I overestimated your potential.” She glared, eyes cold and sharp. “Are you wasting my time dreaming of your ice skates, boy? Should I send you home where you can skate to your heart’s content?”

“No!” Yuuri bit the inside of his cheek, tasted blood. It kept the pending tears locked behind his eyes, tight and burning. “I want to be here, Madame! I swear! I’ll work harder!”

She frowned, looking him up and down until her eyes locked on his again. Something seemed to shift behind her eyes, the slicing ice melting to sorrow. Lilia reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, hesitant as though touching him might burn her. “No, Yuuri.” She sighed. “That was too harsh. It is late and we are both tired. Let us go home and get dinner. We can come back to this another time.”

Yuuri nodded. It’d been weeks since she’d spoken so kindly to him, and he feared saying or doing something wrong to make this side of her vanish again. She’d always been demanding and strict, but until recently, she’d also been sweet in her own way, encouraging. Yuuri’d not even realized how much he counted on those moments of connection until they vanished.

So, he trailed behind her as she led him home, feet throbbing, muscles aching, and heart like a hollow ache in his chest, and he promised himself he’d do better, more. Anything. He wanted to stay. He wanted to succeed. He wanted to see Lilia smile again, even if he had no idea why she’d stopped in the first place.

##

Still dripping from the shower, Yuuri pulled on his leggings and t-shirt and forced stiff muscles and bruised feet to carry him to the dining room table. He hated Sunday breakfasts. Yakov often invited Yuuri to skate, so that he did so every Sunday didn’t mean much.

Except Sundays Lilia had intermediate classes, classes Yuuri didn’t _need_ to attend. He _could_ skate. Alexei practiced on Sundays. Victor didn’t; he had a rest day and usually spent it with Makka. Pretty much a perfect set-up. Especially since Yakov often took time to help Yuuri, to comment on his jumps or spins; it almost felt like being a real skater.

He _loved_ skating on Sundays. And he had to say no. Because the few times he said yes, it upset Lilia, and Yuuri didn’t dare do that, not even a little. Not now when she’d already practically given up on him. So, he sat at the table and nibbled his food, stomach tight as he waited for the inevitable.

Yakov buttered his toast, sipped his coffee, picked up his paper. Then he glanced at Yuuri, just like always mouth opening. “Yuuri, you look tired. Are you okay?”

Not what Yuuri had expected. He put his milk down, kept his eyes on his plate. “I’m fine, thank you.” Not exactly truthful. He’d passed tired three class sessions ago, and it seemed like he never got enough sleep to catch up. Even when he skipped his extra practices. Which he shouldn’t do because he had no time to learn his routine and he still sucked at everything and if he didn’t fix it Lilia would probably send him home where he’d be a disgrace and embarrassment to his family.

He’d sleep after the recital.

Yakov frowned, took a bite of his toast. “Well, would you like--”  
  
  
“Yuuri has to practice today.” Lilia snapped. “Stop trying to distract him.”

  
“I thought you’d swapped his rest days this weekend?” Something dangerous lurked in Yakov’s voice, and Yuuri fought the urge to slip under the table and hide.

  
Across from him Victor stared between the two adults, forehead creased, and lips pinched. For once though, he didn’t cut his gaze to Yuuri like he usually did. Blaming him without a word for the crime of existing.

  
A small mercy, but one that left Yuuri deeply and unaccountably grateful to the older boy.

  
“We’re behind on his recital piece.” Lilia deliberately and forcefully put down her utensils. “In fact,” she looked at Yuuri, eyes dark with something hard and hurtful Yuuri lacked words to describe, “get your things, Yuuri. We should go.”

  
“Lilia, the boy’s barely had time to touch his food. You can’t--”  
  
  
“I don’t tell you how to train your skaters, Yakov. You will not dictate to me how to handle my dancers.” Her hand fell heavy on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Your things, Yuuri. Now.”  
  
  
“Yes, Madame.” He moved as fast as possible, shins still aching with yesterday’s work, collecting his dance bag from his room.

  
  
When he stepped back into the hall Victor stood there. He’d always been taller than Yuuri, and he’d grown a lot in the last year. Enough it felt like he loomed over Yuuri, a beautiful fairy tale monster set to steal his soul.

Yuuri braced for insults. Instead, the older boy held out a pair of protein bars. Chocolate chip. Yuuri’s favorite.

“You should eat something,” he said quietly, voice raspy as if it hurt to even speak this way to Yuuri. “It’s dangerous to exercise without enough fuel.” And again his forehead creased, head turning to stare where Yakov and Lilia stood, their words too quiet to make out, but bodies tense and angry.

“Thank you.” Yuuri took the food shyly, careful to keep their hands from touching.

Victor didn’t say anything else, but Yuuri felt the boy’s eyes on him as he and Lilia exited.


	9. We All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot or ways to be injured. Sadly, Victor's little family is facing them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implications of miscarriage. Definite, if unintentional, child abuse in the face of serious mental illness.

When Lilia and Yuuri missed dinner, Yakov sent Victor to the dance studio to fetch them. Why he didn’t just call, Victor didn’t ask. He feared Yakov might have answered him, and Victor wasn’t sure he was ready to hear it.

And now he walked through the dim halls of the studio, all the people gone, only the faint echo of music from a single studio breaking the silence. Yuuri’s recital music. Victor sighed, noting the light that came from under Lilia’s office door.

He ignored the office for now, curious about the routine that had Yuuri working so hard. Too hard, if Victor were honest. The boy had lost too much weight and gained too many shadows under his eyes to be healthy. Or so it seemed to him. But, Lilia didn’t seem concerned. In fact, she kept pushing Yuuri harder.

Maybe she wanted to force him to grow a spine? Yakov did that sometimes, set stupid expectations so skaters learned to tell him when they reached their limits. Though he didn’t do that until they were older, and even then he never pushed past those limits.

And most skaters were less...stubborn...than Yuuri. That stupid kid would shatter himself to pieces rather than admit he couldn’t handle something. Lilia knew that about him, right?

Not his problem. Victor found himself repeating that phrase a lot lately. It didn’t help. It really, really didn’t help when he opened the door to the studio.

Yuuri laid collapsed on the floor, curled in on himself and desperately pale.

Victor rushed over, not at all sure what to do, just trying to make sure the kid breathed and hadn’t died. His too fast heart nearly stopped entirely when Yuuri tilted his head up, breaths shallow and gasping, sticky tears drying on his cheeks. The younger boy sniffled once, his voice maddeningly, excruciatingly apologetic. “I fell. My ankle.”

“Okay, okay.” Victor felt winded like he’d run a marathon. “Does anything else hurt? Did you hit your head or...” He didn’t know what to ask, couldn’t remember any of the basic first aid he’d learned in that one class Yakov made him take. He needed an adult.

“I twinged my wrist when I landed, but...” Yuuri sniffled again, tried to sit up, only to whimper as he put weight on his right arm, which he pulled and curled against his chest. A longer, higher keen came as he shifted his left leg.

Victor caught the boy around the shoulders, helped him unfurl until he sat with his legs straight out before him. Then he looked down those legs in slow motion, eyes drawn from Yuuri’s tear-stained face to the injury against his will. Distended skin shiny and candy apple red, Yuuri’s ankle had swollen until it looked ready to burst.

“That looks...I’m going to get Lilia.” Victor hopped to his feet.

“No!” Yuuri reached out. “She told me not to stop until she returned. I can’t...she... _please_ , Victor.”

He blinked. “Yuuri, you’re hurt. You need help.”

Yuuri tried to stand; Victor watched him will himself to his feet, saw the determination dance in his eyes as he pulled from his core and almost seemed to levitate from the floor. He didn’t make it, his body crumbling inwards as Victor caught him before he actually tried to put any weight on his injured foot.

“Idiot,” Victor snapped. “You’re just going to make it worse.” Hoisting the boy into his arms, Victor carried him over to the small padded bench in the corner of the room. “Stop being stupid and let me get you help.”

Curled in Victor’s arms, Yuuri felt tiny and fragile.“She’s going to send me back to Japan.” Yuuri’s voice cracked like glass. “She said--”  
  
“Yuuri, you want to be here to dance, right?” Victor waited for the small, tentative nod as he settled the kid on the bench. “Well, you’re not going to be able to do that _ever again_ if you ruin your ankle. Understand?”

Air escaped Yuuri like a burst balloon and he deflated, hunched in and oddly brittle, all sharp bones and tattered edges. He nodded again, once, and then turned his face away into his own shoulder.

Victor dashed to Lilia’s office, burst through the door. And froze.

Something was seriously wrong with Lilia. Scary wrong. She sat behind her desk, posture perfect, but her hair hung loose and disheveled, dark make-up melting down her face like a horror movie. The whole room smelled like cheap alcohol and something bitter and sharp Victor couldn’t identify. He could only stare at Lilia as she looked over at the door and through Victor, eyes empty. Time stood still and thick until she finally spoke, her voice like ripping paper.

“You’re a good boy, Vitya,” she whispered. “Such a good boy. Would our boy have been so good, do you think?” She rocked back and forth slightly, the motion picking up speed gradually as a low whine ground from her throat.  
  
  
Victor ran. He ran, and ran, and ran. All the way home to Yakov. Her voice followed him the whole way.

##

Yakov let Victor hide in his room when he took Yuuri and Lilia to the hospital. Neither returned with him that night, and the older man looked ashen as he slumped against the kitchen table. Old. Older than Victor had ever seen him.

Still, Victor shored up all the courage he had and slid into the seat across from him. “Are they going to be okay?” He hated how his voice shook.

Yakov looked up, reached out a hand to cover the fist Victor didn’t remember making. “In time, yes. Yuuri has a bad ankle sprain, less serious wrist sprain. They will heal, and we’ll get him the physical therapy to get strength back. He’ll be home tomorrow. The doctor’s wanted to keep him tonight to get fluids in him. He’s dehydrated. Exhausted.”

Victor let out a shaky breath. “He’ll still be able to dance. When he’s better?”

Yakov caught Victor’s eyes, his own dark and sad. “He’ll make a full recovery. And then he will come skate with us.”

“Oh.” Victor let his head drop. “She’s not coming back, is she?”

“She,” Yakov’s whole body shuddered, “Lilia is unwell, Vitya. Try not to blame her too much for this.”

It wasn’t really an answer. Not really. But, it felt like an ending just the same.

Sitting together at that table where so many family meals had happened, Yakov and Victor both cried, but neither acknowledged it, and once they parted to their separate rooms and restless dreams, they never spoke of that moment again.


	10. The Words We Never Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication is not a strong point with any of the men suffering right now. But, there are decisions that still need to be made.

No one told Yuuri what happened to Lilia, but he figured out the gist of it when Katya, one of the other students at the studio called and told him he needed to clean out his locker. Now that her mother would be taking over the studio they needed the space for the real dancers she said. Not skaters that played at being part-time dancer wannabees.

Katya never had liked Yuuri much.

With a sigh Yuuri gathered his crutches and hobbled to the living room. He’d been out of the hospital for three days. Other than telling him to rest and declaring meal times, Yakov had said very little to him. Victor said even less. But, Yuuri wasn’t stupid. He knew not to take some random person’s word for his standing; he needed to ask an adult.

Yakov sat in a chair, room dark around him, only the flickering lights of the muted television casting pale, sickly light on his face. He smelled of vodka and sadness. Yuuri hesitated.

Lilia was gone. Where, for how long, Yuuri didn’t know, but certainly long enough that all her classes had been canceled. That email, at least, had been official and trustworthy. And Yuuri had only ever studied with Madame Lilia. So really, it made sense what Katya said. Except the skating part, but the hardly mattered.

  
Yuuri had no teacher, no dancing, no place left in Russia. He’d pack his locker, and then he’d pack his room. No one wanted Yuuri here in Russia. Maybe they never really had. Better he accept it and give up. Injured and exiled he’d run out of options to fight anyway. Tears burned in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Maybe he had to surrender, retreat back to Japan, but he’d be dead before he let anyone see him break again.

Maybe if he’d been stronger before Lilia’d still be here, still want to teach him.

He turned around, fully prepared to hide in his room and cry in peace, but his crutch hit a side table with a heavy thump like a gunshot in the quiet space.

Yakov jumped and turned in his chair, mostly empty glass clicking against the arm of his seat. “Yuuri. Did you need something?” His eyes were red, but his voice came out clear and even. Same as ever.

“Oh!” Yuuri tried to fidget and nearly fell before he got himself stable on his crutches again. “Well, um...it’s just, the studio called and I need to go and get my things.”

Yakov blinked long and slow. “I see.” His lips did some complicated thing that looked like frowning and pursing at the same time. Yuuri found it fascinating. Almost as interesting as the carpet at his feet.

“Well,” Yakov turned around with a dismissive gesture that might have been at Yuuri or the television,“we can do that tomorrow on the way to your check-up then.”

“Yes, sir.” Yuuri waited a long moment, trying to will the words he wanted to come forth. _Are you sending me away? Can I stay? Could I skate for you instead?_ They wouldn’t come, and when Yakov also made no further effort to communicate, Yuuri figured he already had the answers anyway.

He went back to his room. He expected the tears to fall as soon as the door shut, but they never did. They just lodged themselves in his throat, in his heart instead. And somehow that was so much worse.

##

Yuuri started packing right after breakfast, so when Yakov came and knocked at his bedroom door, Yuuri had most everything sorted. He’d never had that much to begin with, even after over a year and a half. He never quite felt comfortable putting up posters or anything. It’d just make leaving harder when they got sick of him.

Turned out it probably wouldn’t have mattered because knowing he had to go hurt more than he’d even imagined. Failing even more so. God, he still needed to call his parents and tell them he had to come home. He didn’t even know how to start that conversation. Though probably Yakov already called them really.

“Yuuri,” Yakov called, “we have to go soon.”  
  
  
Yuuri jumped, so lost in thought he hadn’t realized he’d not responded to the knock. “Oo..okay,” he called out. It felt rude so he rushed to the door, almost tangling in his crutches and yanked the door open. “Sorry!”

Yakov turned. “For what?” Then his eyes widened as he looked past Yuuri and into the bedroom. “Yuurachka, what are you doing?”

Yuuri blushed. “I...packing. I...”He stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m not sure when you want me to leave, but I figured it’d be easier to start sooner?”

With a deep frown, Yakov walked into the room and sat on Yuuri’s bed, patting the spot next to him. For a long moment they sat there, side-by-side, in silence. Then softly Yakov said, “Do you want to go home, Yuuri? I would understand if you do. Things have been...hard for you these last months.”

Swallowing hard, Yuuri shook his head, but then he stopped and really thought about it. Did he want to go home? What really did he have left here? Clearly, he’d been exiled from the studio, and it’s not like he had many friends—just Alexei, and they barely ever saw each other lately. Less since the older boy had started dating.

But home meant no more dancing, no more skating. No more...anything. He’d go to school and help at the onsen, and yeah, he missed his family—he did!--but he didn’t want that life. Didn’t want to return a failure, didn’t want to settle. In his secretest thoughts he’d always longed for more than Hasetsu offered, always known he didn’t really belong there.

  
He just didn’t know if he belonged _here_ either.

Yakov seemed to understand Yuuri needed a moment, because he just waited quietly until Yuuri found his words. “I don’t. Not really. But,” he sighed, “I don’t know where I fit here. If I fit here at all, and I don’t want--”  
  
  
“Yuuri,” Yakov cut him off firmly, “you are an exceptional skater. If you want to stay there is a place at the rink for you. Do not worry about that.”

Yuuri felt his eyes grow large. “Skating? Like in competitions?”

“Well, you are too young yet for Juniors, but we can get you in some other competitions until then. If that’s what you want.” Yakov’s voice grew softer. “But only if _you_ want, Yuuri. After,” he cut off, voice turning to a harsh rasp before he could continue. “After everything, no one will force you into anything.”

This time when Yuuri nodded it was with vigor. “I do! I really, really do.”

  
Yakov’s lips twitched into something that might have almost been a smile for a minute. “Good. Then, get your jacket so we can see about your physical therapy. When we get back I will help you unpack again, da?”

“Da!” Yuuri beamed, something tight and ugly and hard loosening in his chest. He got to stay. He got to _skate!_

For a brief moment everything felt whole and good and bright. And then he glimpsed silver hair and haunted eyes peeking from the room across the hall, and he remembered. Yakov looking lost and empty in his chair the night before; Victor, silent and sad and so, so fragile across the hall; and Lilia, Lilia gone, but haunting every moment like a ghost.

And still, Yuuri wanted to stay, maybe even more because of those things, because Yuuri, who had been broken his whole life, he understood damaged things. Because maybe here with the other shattered pieces had been where he belonged the whole time.

Those hardened tears locked in his heart twisted just a little bit tighter as he met Victor’s eyes over Yakov’s shoulder.

No one spoke. Probably no one knew what to say.


End file.
